


Serious Moonlight

by JackEPeace



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1, AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 01:50:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20035903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackEPeace/pseuds/JackEPeace
Summary: In which Nancy is an intrepid reporter and Jonathan is a crime scene photographer and they really have to stop meeting like this.(or 5 times they met because of their jobs and one time they didn't)





	Serious Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> Believe it or not, this idea came to me when I was listening to My Favorite Murder. 
> 
> In my mind, I see this set around the end of 1988. 
> 
> There are some vague mentions of violence and implied abuse from Jonathan's childhood toward the middle of the story.

**1**

Nancy would never admit it, but she’s learned a few things from her kid brother that have served her well in life. She can only imagine Mike gloating to hear this, preening at the idea that all his annoying habits and behaviors for the first part of Nancy’s life had actually amounted to something positive. Which is exactly why she knows that she’ll never mention it and why she’s not exactly  _ proud _ of employing Mike’s tactics to get what she wants. But she learned from her brother years before that if you annoy just the right people for just long enough then they’ll eventually give you what you want just because they want you to go away. 

Of course, what Nancy  _ really _ wants is to be given assignments based on her merit as a reporter, not because she’s asked and asked enough times to cause her editor-in-chief to just cave in and give her a job. 

But the end result is the same, even if she had to act like a twelve-year-old sniffing after extra arcade money to get to this point. Nancy squares her shoulders, trying to exude an air of professionalism and confidence, as if she’s done this sort of thing a dozen times before. Not like she’s been relegated to making coffee and getting lunches and running errands between departments for the entire year that she’s been at work for the paper. 

A cut-and-dry gas station robbery isn’t what Nancy had in mind for her first story. But at this point, she’s excited just to have a first story finally within her grasp. 

The police officer standing outside the station to ensure that people actually respect the caution tape stretched across the front of the building gives her a look of passing interest. She can’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but Nancy is willing to bet that most of his attention isn’t focused on her face. He holds up a hand when she stops in front of him. “You can’t be here, miss. This is a crime scene.” 

“I know. I’m...that’s why I’m here. I’m a reporter.” Nancy waggles her notepad in his direction. “I’m reporting on the robbery.” 

She can see the man’s eyebrows lift above the rim of his glasses. “You look awfully young to be a reporter.” 

Nancy gives him a tight smile in return, swallowing down the impulse to inform him that this is, indeed, her first story. She figures the officer isn’t all that interested in the fact that she’d graduated college early and gone straight to work for the paper and found that the job hardly lived up the expectations she’d given it. 

“Can I go talk to the clerk on duty?” Nancy says instead. “I need some quotes for the article.” 

“You got ID?” 

Nancy digs around in her purse until she hands over her license and, when the officer looks at her, unamused, she quickly hands over the badge Tom had finally given her when he was practically telling her to get out of his face and leave him alone. It seems to satisfy the officer, finally, who just waves her toward the gas station behind him.

Nancy ducks under the caution tape, returning her wallet back to her purse. The gas station is a mess, the floor covered with the contents of the knocked over shelves. She steps around an overturned rack of magazines, already scribbling notes onto the pad in her hands. 

“Can you...can you not step there? Please?” 

The voice catches Nancy by surprised and when she whirls around to find the speaker, there’s a guy standing a few feet away, a camera in his hands and a look of exasperation on his face. He gestures toward the array of flattened snack-cakes and broken glass that Nancy is standing in. “I’m trying to take photos. Since, you know, this is a crime scene.” 

Gingerly, Nancy steps back. “Sorry.” 

He looks to be maybe about her age and disinterested in her apology, lifting the camera back to his face and snapping a few pictures. Finally, he looks at her again, peering over the top of his camera. “You’re a reporter?” 

Nancy can’t deny the swell of pride in her chest and only hopes that it’s not obvious. “Yes. I’m a reporter.” 

The photographer just gives her a curt nod, clearly not finding it nearly as impressive as Nancy does. “Can you just...step over that way? I’ve got a get a few more angles.” 

Nancy adjusts the strap of her purse, stepping down one of the aisles and removing herself from any potential angles that the photographer might be trying to capture. Instead, she skirts around the back of the store until she comes to the back room, where two officers are still questioning the ashen-faced employee about the incident. She hangs back, listening and writing down a few more notes on her paper, waiting for the officers to be finished.

While scribbling the description of the suspect that the employee is providing, Nancy glances back over her shoulder, toward where the photographer is still working on taking pictures. He looks far too focused for someone taking pictures of broken glass and overturned shelving units. 

Nancy forgets about him entirely when the police officers finally notice her there, trying to shoo her away before eventually relenting to give her a statement for her article. By the time Nancy has finished taking the quotes down, the photographer is gone and there’s no one hanging around to tell her where not to step. She marches out of the gas station with her head held high, a faint smirk of satisfaction turning up the corners of her lips.

It might not be the breaking story that she’s always imagined writing but it’s a start. It’s a byline. There will be a piece in the morning’s paper that reads  _ by Nancy Wheeler _ . 

Even if it is a really small, three paragraph piece on the last page of the local section. 

**2 **

Having a story printed and published in the paper has been good for one thing and one thing only: letting Tom realize that he has Nancy Wheeler right there in the building to dump any dull, unpleasant or otherwise unappealing stories on. 

Previously, story assignments had been a source of contention during the daily meetings or when something came through the scanner or was passed through word of mouth. The more seasoned reporters, like Bruce, who viewed themselves as heroes to journalists everywhere, would bicker and butt heads over some of the lofiter assignments, the ones destined for the front page, and would give Tom shit for trying to hand over a job that they didn’t deem to be worthy of them. 

But now...now there was Nancy Wheeler, smiling and eager and maybe too dumb to turn down any assignment that was tossed her way. 

Which, Nancy figures, is exactly how she’s found herself outside of her apartment in the middle of the night, roused by a phone call from Tom when she  _ should _ be at home sleeping. 

But she’s been clawing her way up the ranks of the paper by the tips of her perfectly painted and filed nails and Nancy figures there’s no way to turn down an assignment and show up the next day and not find herself religated back to getting the coffee. 

So Nancy just quickens her pace, wrapping her arms around herself as she hurries down the sidewalk to the address that Tom had given her. It’s drizzling, that annoying limbo state of rain that has always so annoyed Nancy because, in some ways, she feels like it’s worse than being drenched by a quickly passing shower. Instead, she has to deal with the frizz tangling up her hair and the droplets covering her lashes and skin and everything in a thin sheen. 

It’s easy to spot the scene of the crime: there are three police cars parked on the curb in front of the alleyway, their sirens off by the lights on the hoods spinning lazily and painting the brick and the storefronts with alternating splashes of red and blue. Tom hadn’t exactly elaborated on the story he was expecting her to cover and Nancy hadn’t thought to ask, assuming it was something small and pointless and not worth getting Bruce or someone else up in the middle of the night for. 

Now she’s not so sure. 

But still, an assignment is an assignment and Nancy isn’t about to earn herself a reputation of being unfit to handle whatever is thrown at her. 

When Nancy slips in between the parked police cars and up to the mouth of the alley, she can see a handful of officers standing several feet back, their heads bowed together against the rain, talking in low whispers that she can’t make out. 

And there’s something toward the front of the alley, a few feet from where Nancy is standing, that looks liked discarded clothing or maybe a heap of trash, impossible to make out in the dark and the streetlights glowing from across the street. 

Then a camera flashes and the object comes into full view in a burst of light and Nancy sees that it’s not a pile of clothing or trash at all.

She gasps, pressing a hand to her mouth, and the photographer glances in her direction, surprised by the sound.

It’s the same photographer from the gas station robbery. Nancy hasn’t thought about him in the weeks since they’d first, very briefly, crossed paths that afternoon but it’s strange how comforting it is to recognize his face, out here in the darkness and drizzle. 

And with the woman...the woman…

Nancy steps back, banishing the woman and the alleyway and the photographer and the police from her field of vision. She leans against the building, relieved at the feeling of the brick biting through her damp blouse and giving her something else to focus on. 

She knows this is part of it. Part of the job. But right now, Nancy isn’t sure that she wants to admit to that, to accept the dark underbelly of this city that she’s moved to, this one that she’s making a life in. She just wants to be mad at Tom for sending her out here in the middle of the night, for knowing what she would find, for not telling her about the woman that could be mistaken for discarded garbage bags in an alley. 

Nancy imagines herself straightening her posture, lifting her chin, and marching past the photographer and his subject and interviewing the officers for her article. And she will...she will...but she might need to visualize herself doing it for a few minutes more. 

“Hey.” 

The voice nearly makes Nancy jump out of her skin and her head snaps up. She’s surprised to find the photographer standing in front of her.

He gives her an apologetic smile, his camera hanging around his neck, his arm covering it protectively from the drizzle. “Sorry. I just...wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

“I’m fine,” Nancy says too sharply and too quickly to be believed. “Fine.” 

“Yeah. Okay.” He nods and makes like he’s going to turn away but then he pauses, giving his attention back to her. “I remember the first time I had to...you know…” 

Nancy swallows. “Photograph a dead body?” 

“Yeah.” The photographer looks almost apologetic, though Nancy can’t imagine what he might have to apologize for. “It sucks. Especially something like this...middle of the night...the rain.” 

Nancy scoffs, blinking rain off her lashes. “Pretty sure it sucks worse for her.” 

The guy looks like he’s not entirely sure if he should be smiling or not. Wisely, he settles on keeping his face expressionless. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. Anyways...I just...I wanted to make sure you were okay. You seemed pretty surprised.” 

Nancy nods, frowning down at her feet. She can only imagine what Bruce or Tom or any of the other guys back at the paper would be thinking if they could see her right now. It would only serve as further proof that she didn’t have what it took to be a  _ real _ reporter, to keep up with the rest of them, to really get her hands dirty.

But the photographer doesn’t seem to think any less of her, doesn’t seem to think that she’s some sort of joke. He seems genuine in his sympathy. 

“I’m fine,” Nancy says again and she almost believes herself this time. “I just...thought it was another robbery or something.” 

He gives her a tentative smile. “Guess they’ve got you on the crimebeat at the paper, huh?” 

“They’ve got me working on the stories no one else wants,” Nancy mutters. “Probably so I’ll quit.” 

“That’s pretty much what I thought the first time they sent me out to photograph something other than a break-in or robbery. It was...worse than this.” 

“Sorry.” 

She only gets a shrug in response. “Can’t all be glamorous, right?” He smiles at her.

By the time Nancy realizes that he’s kidding, his smile has faltered and he clears his throat. “I’m Jonathan, by the way.” 

“Nancy.” 

“Nice to meet you, Nancy.” 

She’s not entirely sure that she can agree with his sentiment considering the circumstances but Nancy is saved having to formulate her answer because two of the officers are ducking under the crime scene tape and heading for their cars and she would much rather talk to them out here than have to navigate her way through the alley to find them. “I should…” 

Jonathan follows her line of sight and nods, stepping back. “Yeah. Of course. I really should go finish up too.” 

Nancy gives him a fleeting smile, stepping around him to hurry after the officers. They give her a few quotes for the article, nothing of any importance or value, claiming the sanctity of the active investigation. But it’s enough for Nancy to get the article written and it, at least, almost makes it to the front page this time. 

Even if the follow-up articles are turned over to Bruce, who has “more experience with this stuff” and even though Nancy has heard that in connection with just about everything, she’s not about to argue this time. 

**3 **

The next time Tom sends her off on an early morning assignment, Nancy makes sure to ask for details. This time, it’s only vandalism and Nancy can already tell from Tom’s tone that she’s not going to be making headlines with any of her assignments any time soon.

At least this time it’s not drizzling and it’s not the middle of the night and Nancy feels almost cheerful as she buttons up her jacket, stepping out of her apartment to head in the direction that she’s been sent. It’s nearly the end of fall and she always loves this time of year, even if it does make her miss being home with her family for the approaching holidays. Thanksgiving is a few weeks away and, after that, Christmas, though any thoughts of returning home for the holidays are quickly banished by the sunrise that steadily chases away the grey dawn that has settled over the city.

By the time she reaches the address Tom has given her, Nancy can almost see without the aid of the streetlights and the sounds of the city coming back to life are mingling with the sounds of her footsteps on the sidewalk.

The side of one of the downtown banks has been covered in graffiti: crooked slogans about the rich and entitled and some half-hearted attempts at drawing some Orwellian pigs. Her amusement is forgotten when she spots a familiar face hidden behind a camera, lens pointed at the side of the building. 

“Jonathan.” When he looks at her, she waves and his surprise turns into a ghost of a smile. 

Nancy walks over, glad to have the excuse to study the graffiti when really she’s letting herself study Jonathan. He’s still snapping pictures and she studies his profile and the dark, shaggy hair that falls across his forehead and to his ears. 

“Do they have any other photographers on staff at the police station?” Nancy teases when Jonathan finally lowers his camera, the buoyancy of her good mood making it easy for her to draw him into conversation instead of waiting for him to do the same. 

Jonathan lets his camera rest against his chest. “I think you and I have a lot in common, getting stuck with the assignments that no one else wants.” 

“This is a little bit of an upgrade, though, right?” Nancy points to the graffiti on the building. “Better than the last time we ran into each other.” 

“Definitely have had worse jobs,” Jonathan agrees. 

Nancy smiles at him and the smile still lingers on her face when she excuses herself to go talk to the officer on the scene, a young looking guy who seems equally unenthused to be dealing with this sort of thing in the early morning hours. Even as she takes notes during the interview, Nancy finds herself watching Jonathan out of the corner of her eye, watching as he finishes up with his photographs and then starts working on his camera, rummaging through the bag on his shoulder and polishing the lenses. 

As soon as she starts to walk back in his direction, Jonathan gets to his feet, quickly returning the camera to his bag. “Oh, uh, hey,” he blurts out quickly, clearing his throat and seeming to compose himself. “Look. Do you want to...maybe get a coffee? I mean it’s early and I don’t know about you but I could use some warming up.” 

Jonathan is smiling but its his eyes that give away his eagerness, the hopefulness that Nancy feels in her chest, as fizzy as the good mood that had struck her when she’d started watching the sunrise. 

“Sure,” Nancy says, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I could use a coffee.” 

“Great!” Jonathan clears his throat, looking almost apologetic at his enthusiasm. “There’s a great diner two blocks from here. I mean, great in the way that they’ve never given me food poisoning or anything.”

Nancy laughs and the sound seems to relax Jonathan and she’s surprised to find herself looking forward to walking to the diner with him and ordering coffee. “Lead the way.” 

“So,” Nancy starts, slipping her hands into the pockets of her jacket, “are you from here?” 

Jonathan shakes his head. “No. I moved up here for college but couldn’t really afford it past the first semester but I didn’t really want to go back home so I got a job, stuck around. Really living that dream taking pictures of crime scenes, you know how it goes.” When Jonathan smiles, Nancy figures that she can offer one back. “What about you?” 

“No. I came for college. I’m from Indiana.” 

Jonathan’s eyes widen. “No way! I lived there for a little while until my dad left and we had to move. It’s a small world.” 

He opens the door to the diner, the bell ringing merrily overhead. The diner is bright and warm and it smells like grease and old coffee and something frying in the back and Nancy can feel it all washing across her chest and across her insides, chasing away the grey like the sunrise had done. 

“Yeah. I guess it is.” 

**4 **

Nancy quickens her pace, her hands stuffed deep into the pockets of her jacket, the fabric of her scarf scratching against her cheeks and chin. It’s getting colder now, now that Thanksgiving is behind them, and it’s even chillier at night without the sun to provide the memory of heat. 

She wishes she hadn’t let her roommate talk her into going to her cousin’s friend’s birthday party. She’d known what it would be like: people she didn’t know, loud music, cheap beer, and her roommate breaking the promise that they would “only stay a little while” as soon as her ex-boyfriend showed up and suddenly they decided they didn’t want to be broken up anymore. Nancy wishes it wasn’t so pathetic to admit that she wishes that she had just spent the night back at the apartment, wearing her most comfortable pajamas and slippers and eating takeout from the Korean place downstairs and making herself a cocoon out of the blanket she’d brought from home when she’d first started college.

Instead, she’s out, past midnight, walking herself home in the cold darkness, her eyes blurry from the cloud of smoke in the apartment and her feet sticky from everyone’s spilled beer. Nancy sighs, her breath collecting in the fabric of her scarf and despite the strict budget that’s currently running through her mind, she thinks that it might be worth it to pay for a cab to take her the rest of the way home.

But for the past two blocks, Nancy hasn’t seen anyone but her own shadow and the cars that have driven past haven’t been cabs. So she resigns herself to five more blocks, her fingers already numb despite being stuffed into her pockets. 

Nancy spots the familiar swirl of red and blue, bouncing off the apartment building across the street, long before she actually gets close enough to see the cars parked outside. One of the apartments on the ground floor has the door wide open, a splash of warm light spilling out across the grey sidewalk, though Nancy doesn’t feel like the scene is all that homey or inviting. Not with the police officer standing in the doorway or the ambulance parked at the curb, the doors open and a woman sitting in the back, a dazed expression on her face. 

Nancy drops her gaze, not wanting to be like the gathered crowd of onlookers who have collected on the sidewalk to stare at the man sitting in the back of one of the cars or gawk at the officers milling about. But something catches her attention, causing her head to snap back up, her eyes to refocus. 

Jonathan. 

He looks different than he has the other times that she’s seen him: his face drawn and pale, his eyes unfocused and far away. His camera is sitting on the sidewalk beside him but he doesn’t seem inclined to be reaching for it, even though it’s obvious that there’s still plenty going on for him to photograph.

He reminds Nancy of how she’d felt that night she’d stumbled upon the woman in the alley, how she’d needed the roughness of the brick to pull her out of her thoughts and give her something to focus on other than the pale and unmoving woman in the alley. 

She’s only seen him once since that morning they’d gotten coffee, though Nancy wishes that they’d had more excuses to see one another, that they had run into each other whenever she was given an assignment by Tom. 

Not that she would ever admit that.

And Jonathan is finally here now, in front of her, and Nancy’s first impulse is to hurry by and act like she hasn’t seen him. 

But she swallows, slowing her pace, carefully moving closer to him. “Jonathan?” 

His head snaps up and he looks surprised to see her standing there, his expression still uncertain and unfocused. “Oh. Hey.” 

Nancy purses her lips, flexing her cold fingers in the pockets of her jacket. “Can I…” She tips her head toward the sidewalk beside him.

Jonathan nods and Nancy sits, drawing her knees up to her chest. She looks at Jonathan sitting beside her, his nose red from the cold even though there’s no other color in his cheeks. “Are you okay?” 

Jonathan doesn’t answer. Instead, he asks, “Are you here doing a story?” 

“No. I’m…” Nancy rolls her eyes, unable to help herself. “My roommate invited me to this party a few blocks away but it was a total bust.” She feels self-conscious, suddenly, to be talking about the party under these circumstances. “I’m just going home.” 

Jonathan nods, glancing back toward the house. “Yeah, makes sense. The paper doesn’t usually cover stuff like this.” 

“What’s…?” 

Rather than answer, Jonathan gets to his feet suddenly, holding out a hand to her. “I’ll walk you the rest of the way home.” 

Nancy takes his hand with a touch of uncertainty. “Don’t you have to finish-” 

“I think they’ve got what they need,” Jonathan says without another backward glance.

“Okay.” Nancy gives him a tentative smile. “Only if you don’t mind.” 

“I don’t mind. Trust me. I just need…” Jonathan shakes his head, waving a hand back in the direction of the apartment with its open door and the ambulance with the woman in the back. “Let’s go.” 

Nancy crosses her arms across her chest, trying to warm her hands in the crook of her elbows, watching Jonathan out of the corner of her eye. At the diner all those weeks ago, he’d been animated, his eyes bright, his smile easy. She almost feels like he’s a completely different person, here and now. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

Jonathan exhales, swallowing. “Sorry. I just...stuff like that...it brings back all the shit that went on my with my dad.” He gives her an apologetic look. “I didn’t mean to just dump all that stuff on you.” 

“You aren’t,” Nancy says, putting a hand on his shoulder. He’s not wearing a jacket and she wonders how he’s not absolutely freezing in the bite of the night air. “I don’t mind if you...want to talk about it.” 

“I don’t,” Jonathan says, not unkindly. “I guess I just...wasn’t expecting something like that. Or,” he amends, “I wasn’t expecting it to bother me so much. I mean, I haven’t seen my dad in years and I’m not a kid anymore…” 

“You don’t have to apologize,” Nancy assures him, her hand still curled around his shoulder despite the frigid air that makes her pockets seem so inviting. “I understand. I mean...not about all of it but...I understand not wanting to…” She shakes her head, wishing the words were coming as easily now as they did whenever she sat down at her typewriter. “What I mean is you don’t have to apologize for being upset.” 

Jonathan looks at her with the beginnings of a smile and it almost looks sincere. “Thanks.” 

She smiles and looks down at her feet before she can let herself stare too long and too hard at Jonathan’s dark eyes, regaining some of their sparkle. 

“So you live around here?” 

Nancy nods. “Just a few more blocks,” she tells him. “I’m fine, if you’ve got somewhere you need-” 

“No. No, I’m good,” Jonathan assures her. “Just thinking about running into you like this...I’m glad I did.” 

“Yeah. I am too.” 

**5**

“Jonathan! Your girlfriend is here!” 

He jumps, knocking his knee against the underside of the table and causing chemicals to slosh over the edges of the tray. “Shit.” Jonathan rubs at his knee, frowning at the ruined photographs that now have developing chemicals spotting their surfaces before turning toward the door. “What are you talking about?” 

He doesn’t make a habit of yelling through the closed darkroom door but Jonathan still has some photos trying to develop in the tray and a lot of guys on the floor make a habit of trying to get a rise out of him, so he’s not going to pull open the door and ruin his photos just so they can get a few laughs.

Still... _ your girlfriend is here _ .

Of course, he doesn’t  _ have _ a girlfriend. 

But he made the mistake of mentioning Nancy to some of the guys who were working late one night and even though he hadn’t called her by name or made her seem like she was anything more than someone he just ran into from time to time when they were both working the same job, the guys haven’t let him live it down. Which is exactly why Jonathan hasn’t mentioned the fact that he and Nancy have gotten coffee twice or that he got to walk her home a week ago, even if that night itself isn’t one of his fonder memories. 

There’s a rapping of knuckles on the other side of the door. “She’s trying to sweet talk her way into the records room. Pam isn’t budging though.” The voice and the laugh that follows belong to Sam, one of the few coworkers that Jonathan doesn’t mind all that much. He wouldn’t call them friends, not really, but they’re both transplants to the city, both from small towns, and both just trying to make it through each day with as much optimism and sanity as possible. 

Jonathan tries to ignore the way his stomach sinks at Sam’s words. Of course Nancy isn’t here to see him...he should never have let his mind jump to that conclusion. 

But still...it had been a nice thought for the few seconds the universe had let him have it.

“You better hurry!” Sam says with another knock of his knuckles. “Before Pam chases her off.” 

Jonathan glances back toward the photos developing in the trays and figures that they’ll be alright dying a noble death for a good cause. He opens the door, ignoring the way that Sam is grinning at him. 

On the elevator ride down to the first floor, Jonathan straightens his tie and tries to smooth his hair. He does not, however, think of a good reason to suddenly come waltzing out of the elevator and into the same place where Nancy happens to be.

But when the doors open, he finds Pam sitting alone at the front desk, her perpetual frown in place, licking the tip of her finger as she starts flipping through a report. 

Jonathan quickly scans the rest of the lobby, his heart jumping when he spots Nancy’s back and the dejected slope of her shoulders, her hand reaching out to open the door. 

“Nancy!” 

So much for playing it cool.

At least when she turns around, she’s smiling. 

“Jonathan. Hi.” 

He walks over to her, hoping that he doesn’t look too eager, uncertain as to why he even cares. “I...uh...I thought that was you.” At least, he hopes, that’ll make it sound like he didn’t come rushing down her in the hopes of seeing her. “What are you doing here?” 

Nancy frowns, her forehead creasing. “I was trying to get access to an old case file...something from the sixties. But she…” Nancy peers cautiously past his shoulder in Pam’s direction, lowering her voice that she worries that the woman might overhear. “Won’t let me leave the lobby.” 

Jonathan glances back toward Pam, still looking through her report, and quickly weighs his chances of getting fired. He looks back at Nancy, who is still wearing her scowl on her face. “I could...I could take you.” 

Nancy looks at him, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Wait? Really?” 

Jonathan shrugs. “I mean...sure. I know where the records room is.” 

Nancy flashes him a smile that is totally worth the trouble he’s going to have to go through to redevelop all the photos that he just ruined. “Really? You aren’t...I don’t want to get you into trouble.” 

“It’s no trouble,” Jonathan assures her, tipping his head back in the direction of the elevator he’d just come out of. “Come on.” 

They both hurry past Pam and when Nancy laughs, Jonathan can’t help but join in. He does feel a little bit like they’ve just gotten away with something and he feels a little like he used to when he was younger, playing games in the backyard with his brother and pretending to be spies or wizards. 

Of course, there’s something to be said for doing a little bit of spying with a pretty girl. Sorry Will. 

Jonathan pushes the button for the third floor and the elevator lurches upward. “So why do you need a file from the sixties?” 

Nancy lowers her head, letting her hair hang in front of her face. He’s noticed her do this several times before, a nervous habit, he thinks, when she’s trying to avoid looking at anyone when she admits to something that she thinks they’ll find stupid. “I just...I have this hunch. One of the stories that Bruce is working on-” 

Jonathan feels himself tense at the mention of the name, his mind immediately leaping to conclusions like it had done when he’d learned Nancy was in the building. A boyfriend, maybe. Someone else who works at the paper, an actual reporter and not just someone who goes from crime scene to crime scene, taking pictures of broken glass or blood splatter patterns. “Who’s Bruce?”

Nancy immediately makes a face, her eyes shining with a fire that Jonathan thinks he definitely does not want to be on the receiving end of. “This asshole at work,” she grumbles and Jonathan is embarrassed to admit how relieved he feels upon hearing her answer. “He thinks he’s God’s gift to both women and the entire history of journalism and he is neither, trust me.” 

The elevator doors slide open and Jonathan scoffs. “I believe you.” 

They step out of the elevator and Jonathan holds the door open for Nancy, the one that leads them into a room that stretches across the entirety of the third floor, full of rows and rows of shelves crammed with boxes of files and evidence that haven’t yet made it to the incinerator. 

“Anyways, Bruce is covering this story and I feel like there’s something else there...something he’s not focusing on that he should be. I’ve been asking around and this other case keeps coming up and I thought…” 

“You thought you’d play Nancy Drew?” Jonathan smiles, pleased with himself for the nickname.

The look at he gets in response makes him infinitely less pleased.

His smile quickly fades. “Sorry, bad joke?” 

Nancy only exhales, seeming to deflate, the fire fading from her eyes and the woman-on-a-mission stiffness in her shoulders quickly sliding away. “Look, I know it’s probably stupid. I just thought if I could find the file and there  _ is _ a connection then-” 

“Then you get to rub it in his face.” 

“Then I get to write the story myself,” Nancy admits and Jonathan quite likes the faint pink that dusts across her cheeks. “It  _ is _ stupid.” 

Jonathan shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Sounds like you’re the one doing the work. You should get the credit.” 

Nancy sighs and it’s such a small, soft sound that doesn’t fit in with the big, loud brashness that he’s used to seeing in her. 

Jonathan thinks it makes the set of her shoulders and the constant, determined lift of her chin make more sense. 

“Come on,” he says, gesturing toward the shelf closest to where they’re standing. “I’ll help you look for it.” 

Nancy shakes her head. “You don’t have to do that. I know you’re working and I don’t want to keep you and-” 

“I don’t mind,” Jonathan assures her. “I’ve got some free time.” 

This is not  _ entirely _ true. He does have those pictures to redevelop and another role of film that they’re waiting on involving another store robbery from the day before. 

But he figures what Nancy doesn’t know won’t hurt her. 

**+1 **

Sam tells him that Nancy is here again, corralled by Pam down in the lobby of the building, and this time Jonathan doesn’t have to sacrifice any photos to hurry downstairs to catch Nancy before she leaves.

In fact, he was just getting ready to leave for the day himself. He’s still got nearly all of his Christmas shopping to do and no idea of where to even start and only two days before he has to pray that his car will make it all the way back home to visit his mom and Will. 

But Nancy is definitely worth a detour in his plans to spend the next few hours of his life in a crowded shopping mall, trying to find the perfect presents. Even if it involves spending the next few hours of his life in a room full of dusty, yellowed papers stuffed into cardboard boxes instead. 

When he makes it downstairs, Nancy isn’t halfway out the door like she was last time. In fact, she’s standing close to Pam’s desk, looking toward the elevator with a hint of expectancy on her face and two cups of coffee in her hands. 

“Nancy, hey,” Jonathan says as he makes his way over to her. “Need another trip to the records room? I can sneak you in,” he teases, casting a furtive glance in Pam’s direction.

If Jonathan isn’t mistaken, there’s a sudden rush of color in Nancy’s cheeks. “No...I...no, not this time. I actually came just to say hey. And to thank you.” 

“For what?” 

Nancy holds out one of the coffee cups and Jonathan takes it mostly on auto-pilot, still racking his brain for what Nancy could possibly have to thank  _ him _ for. 

Or what she could possibly be doing here if not for another trip down a memory lane paved with police files. 

“For helping me last time I was here,” Nancy says, wrapping her gloved fingers around the coffee in her hand. “Turns out I was right about the connection between the cases. Tom, my boss, he was  _ actually _ impressed with me.” 

“I don’t feel like that wouldn’t be too hard to do,” Jonathan says before he can convince himself not to just blurt out every thought that comes to his mind.

At least it gets a smile out of Nancy. “You’d be surprised,” she mumbles. 

“So you got the assignment you wanted.” 

Nancy’s smile grows and she looks at Jonathan. “Yeah. I got the assignment. Thanks to you. Plus,” she adds, after a moment’s hesitation, “I thought it might be nice to bump into each other without a crime happening around us.” 

Jonathan laughs, nodding. “Yeah I...I think you might be onto something.” 

They look at each other for a moment and Jonathan feels like he should say something, like Nancy  _ wants _ him to say something, but his tongue suddenly feels all tangled up and useless in his mouth and he can’t for the life of him form any sort of coherent sentence. 

Nancy exhales, her breath teasing a tendril of hail that has slipped free from it’s ponytail. “Well. Thank you, again, you know. For everything. And if you ever need a favor, I am definitely in your debt. I owe you big time.” 

Jonathan just nods because he still hasn’t figured out how to speak and he feels like he’s in one of those dreams where he’s running in slow motion or everything is happening underwater. He can’t snap himself out of it enough to do anything but watch Nancy turn around and start for the revolving doors of the station.

But then, suddenly, Jonathan feels something click into place in his mind and he calls to her back, “Actually, Nancy-” 

She turns back so quickly that Jonathan feels like he’s finally done something right.

Like he might not have blown this after all, despite his inability to form a coherent sentence moments earlier. 

“I might be cashing in on that favor now.” 

Nancy lifts her eyebrows. “Oh?” 

“You wouldn’t...want to go Christmas shopping, would you? I could always use a second opinion...I’m horrible at buying gifts.” 

Nancy smirks, looking highly amused by his question. “You want the opinion of someone who has never met the people you’re shopping for?” 

Jonathan thinks there’s probably a reason he doesn’t normally have luck with this type of thing. 

But, he figures, he’s already come this far so he might as well stick with it. “I could take you to dinner afterward?” 

Nancy smiles and just the sight of it, of that smile turning up the corners of her lips, makes Jonathan’s heart race. “Okay. That sounds perfect.” 

Jonathan can’t help but think that it’s the company that makes the whole thing perfect.

Though, the fact that they’re finally doing something that doesn’t involve an active crime scene definitely helps too. 


End file.
